


darling, i'll take care of you

by cinnabonrollouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Also fluff, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Girl Direction, Kid Fic, a bit of rude language, and foreplay!, basically one more of my guilty pleasure fics in which i take a trope and make it wlw, bc come ON i mean harry around louis' kid? painfully cute, but no actual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 00:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12287082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnabonrollouis/pseuds/cinnabonrollouis
Summary: Louis watches the strip turn pink in the shitty employee bathroom of Donny stadium on a Wednesday evening in early April, 2008, and all she can fucking think as she sits there on the too-low, rickety old toilet seat that’s three fucking inches away from the sink with her nasty work khakis and Ann Summers underwear around her skinny 17-year-old ankles, 12,000,000 miles up Shit Creek with zero fucking paddles, is: I don’t even fucking like taquitos.Across the ocean, in a small dingy-looking hallway in the shadiest part of Los Angeles, 16 year old Harry Styles tries to calm her breathing and wipe the sweat from her palms before she enters her very first audition as a fully grown, adult actor, a very long ways away from home....or Louis has a 7-year-old daughter, she's in a band, and apparently whenver she and that actor chick in the custom floral suits get near each other the internet loses it's shit.





	darling, i'll take care of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boomersoonerash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boomersoonerash/gifts).



> Wowza, my first ever published larry fic. Hope you enjoy it, xxx. 
> 
> The title is one of my favorite Dixie Chicks' songs. 
> 
> (also pls ignore the whole, 'Louis is older than she's supposed to be!1!' thing, i had to make her a lil older to make other things work)
> 
> (also if u kudos this then ily) 
> 
> Follow my Mess of a [tumblr](http://louly23.tumblr.com/).

Louis watches the strip turn pink in the shitty employee bathroom of Donny stadium on a Wednesday evening in early April, 2008, and all she can fucking think as she sits there on the too-low, rickety old toilet seat that’s three fucking inches away from the sink with her nasty work khakis and Ann Summers underwear around her skinny 17-year-old ankles, 12,000,000 miles up Shit Creek with zero fucking paddles, is: I don’t even fucking like taquitos.

Because she doesn’t, is the thing. Louis has no problem with Mexican food, will always be down for a bit of takeaway if Stan gets the munchies or her mum doesn’t feel like cooking or she’s out in public and just happens to trip over a fucking empanada in the middle of the fucking sidewalk—the point is. Louis isn’t against the food typically made in Latin American countries.

But, taquitos, are fucking gross.

Filled with mystery meat and mystery spices and are always either lacking vegetables or salt or heat (because Louis, unlike the rest of her family, prefers food so spicy it could permanently disfigure her tongue), and are typically served to her after having been nuked in a microwave from some Tesco freezer. And if her passionate dislike for fucking microwave taquitos from fucking Tesco is this strong, is this bloody real, tell her why the _fuck_ , were a couple of taquitos all it took to get her previously monk-like vagina to willingly allow what’s-his-name Anderson from year 10 to stick his barely three and ¾ inch dick, _apparently_ condom-less, inside?

She doesn’t even remember the full night, _hell,_ she doesn’t even fully remember the sex. She remembers arriving to the house party, her and Stan going shot-for-shot and then goading him into playing round after round of pong together until she was well and truly sauced, sauced to the point that what’s-his-name Anderson clearly felt it was his time to act, and lured her into the kitchen with the promise of, you fucking guessed it, microwave taquitos. They made arbitrary small talk over the plate of soggy, lukewarm, cylindrical tortillas stuffed with mediocre filling, Louis leaned up against the counter next to the sink and what’s-his-name Anderson stood slouched in the doorway with his hands in his pockets and his hair in his face. And he’s cute, is the thing. Louis likes boys (though typically she’d go chat up a woman when she’s in the mood for a one-and-done; God Bless the mix of Smirnoff Ice and straight girls honestly), especially cute ones like fill-in-the-blank Anderson; he’s got that kind of curly, swoopy hair that hangs just the right way, and he never smells too strongly of Lynx and wears cute jeans that make his bum look…well almost like he actually has a bum. So then from one moment to the next, Louis is laughing at something he said, then she’s taking a sip of her drink, then she’s following him upstairs.

The one thing she does remember is saying yes, which makes her a little uncomfortable because she definitely-probably-might-not have said the same had it been even _a few_ drinks previous, let alone stone-cold sober. And she berates herself for saying yes, calls herself a fucking idiot and thinks about screaming into the mirror until she’s blue in the face.

But.

She did say yes. She did say yes and what’s-his-name Anderson was too fucking barmy at the thought of putting it into Louis Tomlinson to wear a condom and she was too fucking drunk to fucking tell that fucking prick to _wrap it_ and now—

So she sits on the toilet in the employee bathroom of Donny stadium and looks at the positive pink strip on her £6 pregnancy test, and all she can fucking think is that she doesn’t even like taquitos, and now her fucking life is over because of them.

She can’t think for the rest of her shift, as she slings out nachos and hot dogs and disgusting burgers and fries and water bottles to the patrons of her home football team in her home stadium and _how the fuck am I going to play football when I’m fucking up the duff and my fucking kit doesn’t fit and my fucking trainers don’t fit and how am I going to play football with this stupid fucking thing inside me fuck fuck fuck fuck,_ but she says nothing. Not a word to her manager, Linda, who asks her with all the concern of a mother to a child, _she’s only 16 she’s a child herself she’s too fucking young for this what the fuck,_ “Alright, Lou? You’re looking a bit peaky, love.” or to Stan, who sneaks up behind her at break and says, “Down for another night out? Mum and dad aren’t home til’ tomorrow.” and the fucking _thought_ of drinking again like she has been for the past few months, bingeing like some beastly American on spring break _with it growing inside of her, sucking up everything she eats and drinks like a sponge_ , makes her so violently ill that she leans over to the right and grabs the bin next to the microwave to spew, so hard she can’t breathe and starts seeing stars.

After, she’s put on the bus home by a very concerned Linda and Stan four hours earlier than she would have on any other _normal_ fucking day, she stands in front of her house and stares at the front door, feeling three decades older than she did when she ran out of it early this morning; late for her shift as usual.

She can hear the girls, her sisters, messing about inside. Can hear her mum placidly shouting that lunch is ready and _what the fuck is she going to tell her mum, who told her over and over, to remember, more than anything, to always use protection and to take care of yourself first and to be safe and now she has to tell her mother what a fucking slag idiot she is at a year younger than Jay was herself when she had Louis and what the fuck is she going to,_ she walks to the door and unlocks it without telling herself too, opening the door and walking into the kitchen without feeling her feet hit the floor.

She can feel two sets of teeny, tiny arms wrapping around her calves, the little baby voices of Daisy and Phoebe _she’s making her sisters aunties at four fucking years old, this thing inside her is going to have aunts that are only four fucking years older than it what the fuck_ saying  “‘Ooowee! ‘Ooowee!” because her siblings never seem to get the ‘L’ sound until at least five, Lottie and Fizzy were just the same, and she looks at her mother, her sainted mother, who works so hard and trusts Louis, trusts her to be independent and smart and responsible and to balance work and revising and taking care of the girls with her party habits, and her mother is looking at her so _softly_ , those big blue eyes that are exactly copied onto her own face, and her mother is opening her mouth, probably about to say something along the lines of “Welcome home, baby! Why are you so early though, Boo? Are you feeling alright? Are you well?” and she can’t take it anymore, she can’t breathe, the walls are too close and she can’t fucking breathe, and her little baby sisters are wrapped around her legs and there’s a—it’s—literally inside her body _right fucking now_ and she takes two steps forward and falls into her mother’s arms, and sobs.

Later, Louis lays in that bed and stares at her ceiling, desperately trying not to hear the row her mum and stepdad are having through the wall. The lovely guilt-afghan knitting and knotting itself into a frenzy in her chest seems to grow two extra feet longer than it had been when she hears Mark yell, “We can’t fucking afford one more kid, Johannah, what the fuck option is there other than an abortion?” and she can hear her mum’s soft pleas, trying to calm him down and saying “It’s Louis’ choice, she has a choice and we can’t make it for her. We can only make it easier by not pushing her in one direction or another, she needs to make it for her—”

“Fuck-all she needs to make it for herself! She’s 17! She shouldn’t even be having sex! I can’t do it, Johannah, I can’t let me own daughter turn into some teen charver, breastfeeding before she’s even left sixth form. I won’t have it in my house.”

And that’s how two jean sizes, three antenatal visits, and a set of divorce papers later, Louis is standing in the shadow of the front door with one hand resting on her petitely-rounded belly, the July sun shining merrily down as she watches her sisters weep and cling to their mother when their father packs his suitcases into a taxi to leave their home and their family, permanently. She feels tears at the back of her throat, but doesn’t let them fall. She watches the way the wind blows through their her mother’s hair, sees the strong set of her shoulders and the way her chin refuses to quiver and the soft arms she uses to cradle her children to her chest and her sides, somehow holding and comforting them all at once, and Louis knows, deep in her heart, that if the parents she picked out at the adoption center can be ¼ of the parent Jay Tomlinson is, her spawn will be immensely lucky.

She looks down at her stomach, the gentle swell above the band of her jeans that grows every day, and smooths both hands down it tenderly. _I swear to God,_ she thinks toward itty bitty, the secret name she only calls the ba— _it_ inside the privacy of her head, _you better not get fucking pregnant at 17 or I’ll track you down and murder you myself, I fucking swear to every fucking God._

And life goes on.

She goes to school, and is whispered about and stared at and pointed at and probably mocked without her knowing, and she doesn’t fucking look at what’s-his-name Anderson, even though he looks at her, and she says she “doesn’t know who the fucking father is, Stan I just...I don’t know,” and Stan tells people to fuck off when they call her a slut and a whore and a chav and Louis doesn’t cry about it; it’s just the fucking hormones. And she goes to work and serves customers that give their orders to her stomach instead of her face. And she stops wearing jeans because getting them on and off is too much fucking work. And she stops wearing anything other than trainers because her feet fucking hurt with all the extra weight pressing down on her ankles.

And it’s August, September, it’s bloody October and she can’t bring herself to send the weekly postcards to the parents of the _baby,_ the little human being that she made with what’s-his-name Anderson at a party six months ago, with updates of the pregnancy. She can’t write how big her bump is and how much the baby kicks whenever Louis sings to it and how it prefers Special K to Weetabix and how it loves taking showers because it flips back and forth like it’s dancing and how it sleeps when Louis rubs in small circles right where it’s belly is supposed to be and—Louis cries. Day and night. She cries on the bus to school, she cries in class, she cries at work and she cries while revising and cries to her mum and cries herself to sleep every night.

“I just,” she gasps between sobs one night, dropping a tissue she just used to mop up her face onto her now seven-months-ripe stomach as she and her mum sit by the fire on a cool November evening, “I feel, so, _guilty,_ like I don’t even know why, I’m doing what’s best for it, right mum? I’m doing the best by giving it up, right?”

Jay is thoughtfully quiet for a moment, reaching out a hand to stroke Louis’ cheek and brush a few loose hairs behind her ear. “I can’t tell you what to do here, because this isn’t my decision, love.” Her eyes are warm, “I will say this, though: best decision I ever made was you, Lou. I’ve never regretted it. Not once.” She hesitates, “And it won’t be easy.” She her smile a little regretful, “You’re giving up a piece of yourself either way. The question isn’t what’s the best choice,” she cups a hand under Louis’ chin and looks deep in her eyes, “The question is which choice can you, _yourself_ , live with?”

So she starts to think about it.

She thinks of a little baby, a teeny toddling thing, crawling about and reaching its little chubby hands out to her and babbling ‘Mamama’ every time it sees her and she imagines scooping up said tiny toddling thing and smelling its wee, soft, precious head and breathing in just like she did when her sisters were small, except this little thing, little baby, will be hers. Will have her eyes and her smile and her laugh and her hair and will call her ‘Mummy’ and look at her the same way she looks at her own mum. She thinks about it, itty bitty, growing up in her house with her sisters and being loved and taught and taken care of by not one, but five, loving and wonderful women who want nothing but the best for them. She thinks about watching itty bitty grow into a person that’s better than herself, that can be _more_ than she will ever be.

And then she thinks about school. She thinks about singing in her band, how they were getting gigs and going places before the baby happened. She thinks about all her dreams for Uni, having a blast with Stan and her mates while getting her degree. Growing up and meeting someone and falling in love and getting married and _then_ having a baby. She thinks about itty bitty, tucked away safe inside her womb, being loved and adored by two parents who have been waiting so long to have a baby of their own, who so _desperately_ want a child and are ready and able to care for one.

And suddenly—before she can change her mind—she calls the adoption agency tells them that she can’t give up the baby, that she made a mistake, and that she’s so, so, so sorry.

The next two months after that fly. Her birthday passes and where a year ago she would have been bouncing from club to club with her brand new legality and drinking until she couldn’t see, she spends her first night as a 18 year old comparing prices on cots and prams and bouncers and organizing nappies and _gender-neutral-babygros_ because, some people like to be surprised, _mum,_ and then it’s December 31st, and all at once Louis is sitting on her bed in her room, which was once plastered with posters and pennants of her footie teams and favorite bands and empty liquor bottles and various bras and trainers all over the floor, but now features a little white fluffy cot right next to her bed and tiny blankets and sleep-suits and flannels all made from the same soft yellow and green fabrics. She watches the clock, and at exactly 12:00 AM, January 1st 2009, she feels the same tight, sharp pressure in her lower abdomen and back that she’s been feeling every six minutes for the past hour, and shouts down the hall, “It’s fucking time, Mum!”

And a grueling six and a half hours later, Louis sits up in her hospital bed, so bloody knackered she can barely see, and cradles her soft, pink, warm, brand-new baby daughter in her arms.

She brushes one finger up and down her little girl’s cheek, and watches in wonder when the baby smacks together her perfect little lips, the same color of a setting sun, before they stretch out in a little ‘o’ of a yawn, and turns her little head toward Louis’ chest. Jay had brought her sisters by earlier, and they all had taken turns holding the baby and making cooing noises at her before Jay had firmly suggested it was time for the new mum and baby to have some time alone together and they were shooed out of the hospital room with an “It’s off to bed, my little chicks!”

So she’s been alone in her room for a little over an hour and she hasn’t moved an inch, too absorbed in the tiny bundle on her chest. And the feeling is. Too much, when Louis looks at the baby, _her baby_ , her baby that she made, and is going to bring up all on her own. Louis feels tears sliding down her cheeks and she’s so full of love for this baby, so full of devotion and passion and _fear_ and she looks at the baby’s teeny tiny lavender eyelids that slowly open in the dim, fluorescent lighting to reveal a pair of gorgeous dark blue eyes, the color of the sky at night, and thinks _I love you so much I would die for you, kill for you, I would do anything for you oh my fucking god you are absolutely everything,_ and so supremely all at once, Louis knows that it’s worth it, whatever it is; everything that’s already happened and everything to come is worth it because she has this little baby in her arms and that’s all that matters.

She names the baby Indigo Rose Tomlinson.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Indie is just starting to walk when Louis auditions for The X Factor series in 2010.

She watches as her one-and-a-half-year-old waddles forward on her chubby legs, little feet stomping merrily in the tiny Toms Stan got her for her first birthday, and she claps and coos when the baby stands before her and reaches up for Louis to hold her. Louis scoops up the baby, bouncing her on her left hip and talking in a sickly sweet voice, “You’re such a very good walker, my little Indie, such a very good walker and such a very smart girl, my little Indie Rose. Aren’t you? Aren’t you?” she asks the baby between kisses to her cheeks. And like the very smart, very good walker that Indigo Rose is, she kicks her little legs and flails her little arms and giggles as her mother twirls her around.

Louis checks her watch, and calls down the hall to her mum, “Are you ready? We should probably start out now.” She turns back to the baby, “We should get in the car and go zoom-zoom to the big arena so Mummy can make an arse of herself on national telly, shouldn’t we? Shouldn’t we, my little gem? Are you excited to watch Mummy be silly on the telly? Are you excited?” the baby continues to laugh as Louis tickles her little cheeks and talks in funny voices until Jay finally appears in the kitchen doorway, watching her daughter and granddaughter with soft eyes.

She walks over to the pair and easily takes Indie from Louis’ embrace, smoothing down her caramel-coloured flyaway hairs and pressing a kiss to her downy cheek. She smiles at the baby as she says to Louis with nothing but pride and confidence in her tone, “You aren’t going to make an arse of yourself, Lou. You have an amazing talent.” Louis sighs.

“I’m an 18 year old mother.”

“You’re a smart, talented, beautiful 18 year old woman who just happens to have a beautiful baby daughter.” She smiles at Louis, “You’ve grown so much, Boo. You’re not a kid anymore, and I think that’s something that will give you an edge in this.”

Louis starts, “But even if I get in—” “ _When_ you get in,” Jay interrupts, making faces at the Indie, who laughs and pulls at her grandmother’s hair, “ _If_ I get on the show,” Louis continues, “I’ll have to leave—” and her throat suddenly gets thick, “I’ll have to leave her for months. I might miss her birthday, Mum. She’ll change so much and she’ll forget me completely and I’ll—”

“Enough.” Jay says, as sharply as she ever speaks to any of her children, “We’ve discussed this to the ends of the earth. You have been nothing but an amazing mother to this little girl,” she says as she bounces Indie, “and part of being an amazing mum is wanting things for her, wanting to build a life for her, and showing her how to chase her dreams.” She reaches out a hand to cup Louis’ face, “You’re teaching Indie that she can be whatever she wants to be. Don’t forget that.”

And then hours pass, they’re in line at the arena she saw The Script in years ago, and she’s pulled aside and asked to do a little interview. She holds Indie in her arms the whole time and looks right into the camera with as much confidence as she can muster and says, “My name is Louis Tomlinson, I’m 18, I’m from Doncaster, and this is my daughter, Indigo.”

And then, she’s not in line anymore. She gets pulled out and into the arena to be placed in the most nondescript, black-and-white room she’s ever been in with her mum and Indie and she’s sat down by some frightening-looking people that aren’t wearing suits but definitely look like they should be wearing suits and is told she’s going on the main stage to sing in front of Simon, Louis Walsh, and Cheryl, and would she give permission for little Indie to be on screen?

“Um.” She says with all of the intelligence of the tie clip the stern-looking man sat before her is wearing, “I guess?”

So she signs the papers and her mum is smiling as they walk over to main stage where—holy fucking shit—Simon Cowell is twenty bloody feet from her, and Indie is pointing at the lights and babbling in her ear, and her breathing is picking up a little bit as she climbs the steps to stand in front of what feels like the entire world. She turns to Indie, bouncing herself up and down in Louis’ arms and patting her mum’s collarbones and pulling on her shirt as if to say “Mummy, I don’t quite understand what’s happening but I love you very much and I think your tits look absolutely choice in this top, so you better go out there shove it up the X Factor’s arse!”

She smiles and leans over to inhale the smell of Indie’s hair (baby shampoo, sensitive skin laundry soap, and lavender lotion) and hugs her close until a stagehand comes up to her, hands her a microphone, and says, “You’re on in two, hand your Mum the baby.” She passes Indie to Jay with minimal upset, even though the toddler makes it clear she would prefer being held by her Mummy by pushing her sticky, baby-goo-covered hands against Jay’s cheek. Louis smiles and waves at her daughter, and walks up the steps and out onto the stage.

Her heart pounds in her ears when she stands before the lights, the massive cameras all pointed at her, and three people that she’s been watching on telly since before she was properly toilet trained. And then she has a small heart attack when Louis bloody Walsh looks directly at her and says, “And what’s your name?”

“My name is Louis Tomlinson.” She says into the mic, her smile wide and bright.

“Off you go then,” he says with a casual wave of his hand, leaning back into his big important X Factor seat.

Louis sings as honestly as she can, keeping eye contact with the cameras, when really in her heart, all she can see is her daughter’s face smiling bright and happy and reaching out her hands to be cuddled. When she’s finished, she stands on the stage with as much confidence as she can, swallowing around the heart in her throat and _I’m gonna get three no’s I’m going to get three bloody no’s I can’t believe I dragged my mother and my daughter out of bed at 4:30 this morning to actually make an arse of myself on national telly_ , Simon says, “Well you’ve got yes from me.” And Louis almost jumps, she has to hold herself from jumping up.

Then Louis Walsh echoes, “I say yes as well.”

And Cheryl Cole flips her beautiful hair over her beautiful shoulder and says, “It’s a yes, darling.”

“Well then,” Simon Cowell says as he straightens the papers on the table before him dramatically, “Looks like you’ve got three yes’s, Louis Tomlinson.” And that’s when Louis jumps.

She can barely hear herself saying thank you, let alone feel her feet hit the ground as they sprint off the stage, running straight up to her mum and scooping up her little daughter, her little Indigo, and twirling her around while she shrieks and kicks her legs. She cuddles the baby close and whispers into her ear between kisses to her cheek, “Mummy didn’t make an arse of herself on national telly, little gem, and it’s all because of you.” The baby coos back, like she understands, and drops her little head onto Louis’ shoulder as if to say, “Well done, Mummy! Now if you don’t mind, I got up very early this morning and have only had a short nap in the car so I’m going to go back to sleep now!”

And from then on it’s pure, absolute, madness.

She’s in bootcamp for the X Factor, and her mum comes by with Indie—and sometimes the girls—as much as she can while Louis is on stage, singing and dancing and praying, hoping, that somehow she’ll get through.

“It’s not even for me, mostly.” She says at lunch one day to the two girls she’s made the quickest friends with, Niall (small, Irish, big blue eyes and quick to laugh) and Zayn (sweet and shy, with the most stunningly sharp cheekbones and a gentleness in her calf-brown irises that seems to be hiding something a little mischievous), “I’m more doing it for her. I want more for her than I can do now. I want her to have more.”

Zayn nods, because her mouth is full, and Niall says, even _though_ her mouth is full, “That’s right craic, honestly. It’s good that you’re doing it for her. Gives you incentive to work even harder.”

And work harder Louis bloody does. She practices the dances until her feet are raw and sings until she almost loses her voice, but she also has fun too. She messes about with Niall and Zayn, singing random songs in the middle of large groups of people and laughing and getting into trouble and it sort of feels like, for a moment, she’s gone back two years in time and is a 16 year old idiot with nothing to lose…until she gets a message on her mobile from her mum back home, a picture of Indie sound asleep in her crib with the caption _‘I’m so proud of you, mummy, and I love you very much!’_

She gets up on stage and sings with all that she can, but she knows deep down, in her heart, it wasn’t one of the best performances she’s ever given, and that she’s going home.

She cries anyway, in front of the camera with not an ounce of falseness and can only mop up under her eyes with all the other rejected girls, and her mum, sitting in the back row, looks at her with confusion and Louis shakes her head and does a thumbs down before _you fucking idiot why the fuck did you ever think you would be good enough what are you going to do now you have a fucking baby that depends on you what the fuck is wrong with you_ she grabs her suitcase and starts to walk out of the arena for good.

She stands there with Niall and Zayn and another girl she’s never met with long, brown hair and red-rimmed brown eyes to match, and waits for her mum to pull around the car so she can climb inside, hold her daughter, and forget this ever happened. But before she can, a woman with a clipboard comes out the front door and calls her name. And Niall’s, Zayn’s, and mystery girl’s, which happens to be Liam. “We need you back inside for a few more shots.” She waves them toward her, “Come along.”

Louis sighs, and can’t help but feel a little resentful. What do they want? More shots of her crying over the dreams for her and her little baby being snatched away? But she grabs her suitcase and rolls it back inside with the other three girls and pastes on something that sort of resembles a smile. And then she’s shoved out on stage, in front of the same three people who handed her a taste of her dreams before cruelly snatching them away, and then she’s told, lo and behold, that she’s not going home, and instead she’s being put into a band with the three girls beside her. Louis jumps so high she can practically feel herself hit the ceiling.

And for the next three months, she can’t feel herself come down once.

She spends her days singing and learning with her new bandmates, who quickly become three of the best friends she’s ever had, and she spends her nights skyping with her mum and Indie, who she misses so much sometimes it feels like she can’t breathe, even as she’s constantly reminds herself that she’s only doing this for her baby. One Direction, the band name that Niall came up with because she wanted it to sound cool when the announcer said it, is all for Indie, and the life that she wants for both of them. The life and the dream that’s getting closer and closer and closer each week they get nearer to the final, and suddenly Louis believes it, actually believes she’s going to make it, and then she stands on the stage beside Liam and Niall and Zayn and they come in third.

And Louis sobs backstage, a far cry from the confident-in-defeat-Tomlinson who said “This definitely isn’t the last of One Direction,” into the mic in front of the world, she sobs and sobs and sobs in a big puppy pile of her, Liam, Niall, and Zayn all clinging and crying on each other’s shoulders because _you left your baby for three months you fucking missed three months of her life for this you fucking idiot what the fuck is wrong with you_ and then suddenly, once again, she and her bandmates are pulled back into a small secret room with only a desk and chairs and Simon Cowell, smiling plastically with a contract and four pens sat before him.

So she signs, and now she’s an 18 year old mother in a band with three other girls and she still can’t fucking believe how much she hates fucking taquitos, even after all they’ve done for her.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Across the ocean, in a small dingy-looking hallway in the shadiest part of Los Angeles, 16 year old Harry Styles tries to calm her breathing and wipe the sweat from her palms before she enters her very first audition as a fully grown, adult actor, a very long ways away from home.

She flew over to the states, alone, without her mum or stepdad or sister for the first time ever, and then checked into the hotel she might be living in for the duration of filming, alone, and called her own taxi and is now sitting, alone, outside a room full of people that could change her life forever.

She holds the script with the excerpt of lines and clutches them very close to her chest, going over them in her head and breathing in and out, deeply and slowly, to combat the nerves that threaten to choke her. The door behind her opens, a mid-height woman steps out and smiles at Harry, and says calmly, “We’re ready for you.” Harry gets up and smiles, shaking hands with her and thanking her, and then walks into the room.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

She gets the part.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

“Indie!” Louis yells up the stairs, “Hurry up, love, or we’re going to be late!”

Louis walks back into the foyer, checking her phone to see if—yup there it is—her head of security, Alberto, has texted with the transportation details for tonight’s event. She’s scrolling through the protocol as she touches up her nude lipstick in her hallway mirror; she opted out of having it done with the girls only because she was in the mood to go more natural tonight and let the clingy, black, open-back evening gown she’s wearing be the centerpiece of her look. After all, it’s the first time in a few years she’s attended the Grammy awards and at 25 years old, she wants to make a statement.

Her 7-year-old daughter tromps down the stairs in sock-covered feet, wearing an appropriate but comfortable pantsuit-style romper made of matching fabric to Louis’ dress, holding the shoes she’s apparently chosen for the evening (a pair of shiny black loafers that their wardrobe artist practically _screamed_ about when she found them) in her manicured little hands. “I couldn’t get them on right,” Indie grouses, holding out the shoes to her mum, “The heel kept folding inside.”

“Well we can’t have that, now can we? Down you pop.” Louis says, taking the shoes and patting the bottom step for her daughter to sit.

Louis Tomlinson’s life in 2017 is absolutely mad by anyone’s standards, let alone her own. She’s a 25 year old singer in one of the highest grossing bands to ever come out of the UK, an experienced songwriter and producer, and mum to an amazing kid who is bright and clever and funny and grows in kindness and beauty every day. She’s fresh off One Direction’s reunion tour after a one-and-a-half year long hiatus they took back in 2015 (just enough time for her to get her feet back under her and to spend time with her mum and the girls, who grow so much every time she leaves with Indie to spend months at a time gallivanting across the world, and so that her daughter could start primary in an actual classroom and have more companions her size than just little Lux Teasdale; One Direction’s stylist’s little girl) and she’s ready for her first Grammy’s where she’s actually nominated, not just for One Direction’s most recent album, Made in the AM, but also for a few writing and producing credits on other songs nominated, and also to show off her darling little date; Indie, as this will be her first award show attendance since she was in nappies.

And Indie definitely does look excited as Louis gently slips her little feet into her dress shoes and ties the laces into as neat a knot as she can manage. “Okay, little gem,” Louis says, standing up to her full height in her black stilettos, “Is your room all sorted? All your stuff is unpacked? I won’t have to help you when we get home?”

Indie nods and smiles, showing off a few little gaps where various baby teeth have fallen out, “Yeah, mummy, I took out my clothes and shoes.” Louis smiles back warmly, brushing a few flyaways behind Indie’s ear and leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

“Brilliant.” She holds out her hand to her daughter, who takes it with a bright, if gap-toothed smile, “Off we go then.”

The pair walk out the front door together, Indie chattering softly about who she’s excited to see at the show during the commercial breaks and who she’s going to wave at on the carpet and can they go to at least one after party? Please, Mummy?

“Absolutely not.” Louis says as she opens the back door to the car parked at the top of their driveway, gently ushering Indie inside to sit next to—“Auntie Zed! Auntie Zed, I didn’t know you were riding with us!”

“Well they asked me which car I preferred, and of course I just _had_ to pick the one with my best friend in the whole world!” Zayn scoots over as close to the wall as she can to let Indie squish in beside her. Zayn is wearing a red, skin-tight gown encrusted with crystal black roses and a plunging neckline that she subtly adjusts as she leans over to cuddle Indie close to her. Louis climbs in after Indie and leans over her head to kiss Zayn on the cheek hello; the two sharing a small, private smile; _it’s bloody good to be back_.

The ride to the venue is short, and spent in lively conversation mostly supplied by a bouncy 7-year-old who can barely sit still from her excitement. Louis watches the way her daughter talks, full and passionately with her hands as she tells Zayn about what she’s been doing lately (her upcoming dance recital specifically, in which she is the youngest girl in class to be given a special part), and can’t help but feel complete adoration bloom in her chest; God but does she love her kid. She thinks about the past seven years of madness and can’t help but be massively, incredibly grateful and so full of pride at all she has accomplished; her daughter beside her every step of the way. She feels grateful for all of it…the girls and their everlasting bond of friendship, the beautiful little person she’s  raising, the love of her mum, new Step Dad Dan, sisters and brother that stretches across the ocean, and the fans; ever vivacious and powerful in their support of Louis herself and the band.

Louis spends so much time reminiscing that in the blink of an eye, they’re at the venue, and she can feel the wave of screaming wash over her as she opens the door and slides out holding her daughter’s hand. She leans down and makes sure to whisper one more time, “Stay with either me or one of your aunties, okay? No running off.” Indie nods, her smile so bright it could light up an entire city. Zayn climbs out of the car after Louis, and in her peripheral vision she can see Liam and Niall leaving their own car, both looking gorgeous in their gowns. Louis looks up and smiles at the flashes of the paps, and watches her child with fond eyes as she takes in everything; the fans, the cameras, and the other celebrities just metres away on the carpet. Liam and Niall step over to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Louis and Zayn, and all four of them grasp each other’s hands, (except Zayn, who grabs Indie’s hand instead of Louis’) and step forward into the night as they always have; united.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Harry Styles leans and resists the urge to reach her hand down and adjust the lapels of her blazer once again; she looks great, the suit looks great, and she needs to lay off pulling at it. Her brown curls, cropped short for the first time in several years for what looks like will be her biggest role yet, are styled impeccably in a messy pile on top of her head. She can feel their weight as she smiles and nods to the interviewer, who looks young and is probably nervous; Harry remembers that feeling all too well.

It wasn’t even until four or five years ago, when she was already half a decade into the mess of camera flashes and money and custom Gucci suits, that she started to feel comfortable coming to award shows. Especially ones like the Grammy’s; ones where she’s not even up for an award. She comes, listens and watches the incredible show that some of her closest friends (she still can’t fucking believe Ed’s third album has been nominated so many times and all she does is shrug and say: “It’s another one for the mantle; I’m not bothered either way.”) and biggest idols (no matter how many times she’s in the same room as Adele her arms _still_ get bloody goosebumps) perform for the American public, and after she’ll breeze through a few after-parties, just so her management can’t yell at her for being antisocial, then go back home to her LA bungalow and pet her cats and sleep until she can’t anymore.

Young-and-nervous moves the mic a little closer to Harry’s mouth and raises her eyebrows expectantly; Harry must have zoned out a bit too long.

“Sorry, love,” Harry apologizes in the lowest, most charming voice she can muster, “Bit preoccupied with all the,” she gestures around them to the cacophony of pap’s camera clicks and screaming fans, “could you possibly repeat the question?” Harry smiles, batting her eyelashes just the littlest bit as her dimple pops out in full force.

Young-and-nervous practically drops her cards all over the carpet as she blushes and stammers, “You-You look absolutely stunning tonight, Harry. I was wondering who you’re wearing?”

Harry’s smile softens; less forced and a little more genuine, “It’s a custom Gucci. I saw the print in one of their showrooms a few months back and just knew I had to wear it.”

The reporter smiles back, encouraged by Harry’s answer, “You’ve been wearing a lot of amazing suits lately; are you trying to make some sort of statement about gender-neutral clothing, especially since you’ve taken such an iconic role as Black Widow, who’s an idol for so many young girls ?”

Harry purses her lips a little at the mic, pondering the question. “I don’t think I’m really _trying_ to make a statement.” She gestures to the suit, “This clothing,” she smiles again, “makes me feel like me. If I see more dresses or skirts or whatever the sort that make me feel the way this suit does; I’ll wear more of them. And especially in relation to Widow, I think it’s important for young girls to see that you can do or wear whatever you want and still be successful and respected.” She shrugs, “So until I change my mind about what I want to wear and how I want the world to see me, I’ll be rocking it out in stuff lik—” she’s interrupted by the smallest, most dainty voice she’s ever heard coming from behind her, completely making her train of thought as the little voice says, “Mummy! Mummy, look! Harry Styles is wearing a suit!! Just like me, Mummy!!”

Harry turns around to see perhaps the most precious little girl she has ever seen, bounding over to her at full speed. The little girl can’t be more 3’6” and she has long, sandy-brown hair that’s pulled back into two fishtail plaits, and she is indeed wearing a mini pantsuit in a simple black fabric with a greyish sheen to it. She looks absolutely adorable and Harry can’t help but crouch down to her level as the little girl lands directly at her feet.

Her gap-toothed smile is impossible to return, and she has the most interesting eyes Harry has ever seen; a deep and mesmerizing dark blue. “Hi, Harry Styles.” the little girl says in that same dainty, sweet little voice.

“Hello, love.” Harry replies, “What’s your name?” but just as she asks, a second person comes sprinting up to where Harry stands with the little girl; an absolutely stunning woman wearing a jaw-dropping backless dress in fabric exactly matching that of the little girl’s pantsuit. The woman has softly feathered fringe the same shade as the little girl, and when she reaches out to grab the little girl by the arm and leans down so that they’re on eye-to-eye level, Harry can see that she also has striking blue eyes, but the shade is closer to that of the ocean than a night sky. “Indigo Rose, _what_ did I tell you about the carpet? Hmm?” her voice is stern, but not mean and has the most delicate, musical quality that Harry has ever heard.

Indigo Rose seems to shrink a little bit under the woman’s gaze, and she replies quietly, “Stay with mummy and my aunties. No running off.”

“That’s exactly right.” The woman huffs quietly pulls Indigo close to her for a moment in a hug. Over top the little girl’s head she smiles sheepishly at Harry, “Kids, right? What are you gonna do.” Harry laughs a little and nods. The woman continues, “Sorry if she, uh,” She nods at the cameraman and Young-and-Nervous, who must look absolutely gobsmacked, behind Harry, “wrecked your interview.”

At this, Indigo leans away from the woman and turns to address Harry, “Sorry, Harry Styles. Just wanted to say hi because we’re both wearing suits.” she says in a shy voice, her little cheek tucked against her collarbone to avoid Harry’s eyes. Harry smiles as gently as she possibly can.

“No trouble at all, that’s an excellent reason to come and say hello, love. I really like your suit, do you know who it’s by?”

Indigo seems to think about it for a long moment, then lights up as she practically shouts, “Mummy! Mummy picked the fabric so we’d be matching!” The woman laughs at that, eyes so bright that her skin crinkles adorably around the edges. Harry finally stands up straight just as the woman reaches out a small, tan hand, “I’m Louis, Louis Tomlinson. And this little goblin,” she pats Indigo on the head fondly, “is my daughter; Indie Tomlinson.” Harry raises her eyebrows, so this is the leader of the most successful girl band ever to come off of X Factor, and possibly one of the most talented bands to come out of the UK to date. She doesn’t know that much about Louis, but if what she does know is true; Harry is practically in awe of her.

“Harry, Harry Styles.” She replies to Louis, taking her outstretched hand and bringing it to her mouth for a quick peck. Louis Tomlinson snatches it back, surprised, but blushes and smiles that same crinkly-eyed smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Harry.” she smiles down at her daughter, “And what do you have to say to Harry before we go back to find your aunties, little gem?”

Indie jumps forward to wrap her arms around Harry’s legs, but before she can Harry snatches her up and settles the little girl on her hip. Indie crows with joy and throws her arms around Harry’s neck in a hug, and Harry returns it wholeheartedly. When the little girl leans back she practically beams at Harry and rushes to say, “Do you want to sit with me and Mummy and my aunties? Mummy’s up for an award, so if you sit with us you might be on the telly!”

Harry smiles, this kid is just too cute, “I wish I could, little lady, but I have my own table to sit at, and my friends would just cry if I wasn’t there,” behind Indie’s head, Louis snorts, “Now why don’t you go have fun with your Mummy and Aunties yeah? And I’ll see you another time.” She looks at Louis as she says this, who smiles back and nods minutely. Harry gently lets Indie down, and the little girl easily reaches out for her mother’s hand, looking back at Harry as the pair walk back the way they came, toward more flashing cameras. Harry turns back to Young-and-nervous almost like she’s coming out of a daze and everything is slowly coming into focus; standing and talking with the two Tomlinsons had felt like a whole other world.

“Right,” Harry says, straightening her jacket and smiling as winningly as she can at the still-flustered Young-and-Nervous, “Where were we?”

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Louis wakes up with her head hanging off her bed and a teeny tiny foot shoved in her face. She leans up a little bit, leaning down to pick up her child, who is softly snoring, and lay her the opposite way on top of Louis’ chest. Indie immediately pushes her face closer to Louis’, breathing her foul, baby-morning-breath all over Louis’ face. Louis presses a kiss onto Indie’s forehead and reaches one of her arms out to her bedside table to grab her phone, quickly opening it up and scrolling through a bunch of missed calls and texts from her management company, and then several from her assistant/manager herself. Louis opens the most recent text, and it’s a screenshot of an article; “Heartthrob Harry Styles Dotes on 1D’s Louis and Her Little Daughter, Indie, and the Internet Cannot Handle It.”

The article is absolute, well, rubbish.

It’s lots of frivolous text about where they were and what they were wearing, with absolutely wild guesses as to what they had been saying to each other, and split up nicely with what, Louis must admit, are some pretty adorable pictures. There’s one of Indie running at Harry, both of their faces lit up, one of Indie perched in Harry’s arms, obviously explaining something from the way her hands are waving about, and one of Louis and Harry laughing at something Indie said. Louis can’t help but smile fondly at the memory and pull her daughter a little closer. She then scrolls back and looks at the message attached to the screenshot, “So sorry to bother you on your hols, but PLEASE come into the office as soon as you get this, we HAVE to talk!!”

Louis sighs and closes her phone, tossing it to the other side of the bed. She lowers a hand down to smooth her daughter’s hair down her back then sits up in bed, still holding Indie flush against her, “Time to wake up, darling. So sorry, it’s time to get up; mummy has to go into work for a bit, yeah?” Louis whispers into her daughter’s ear in between kisses to her hair. Indie grumbles and stretches before cuddling back into Louis’ neck and makes no effort in waking up. Louis sighs and scoops up her child even more in her arms before standing up, still holding Indie in her arms. Louis pats Indie’s back as she walks out of her bedroom, down the hallway to Indie’s room, where she walks inside and turns on the lights.

Indie makes a yowling noise and hides her face in her hands, but Louis pulls them away, pressing kisses into her daughter’s tiny palms. Indie (finally) opens her eyes then, blinking sleepily as her mother sets her down to sit on her bed. Louis crouches down so that they’re eye-level, and she smoothes the hair out of Indie’s face. Indie leans into Louis’ hand, and yawns, her little shell-pink lips smacking together adorably. Louis smiles, “I’m going to get dressed and get brekkie all settled, hm? And all you have to do is pull back your hair and pick something to wear, and we’ll be in and out of the office in a flash, alright?”

Indie nods, used to this routine. “Can I bring my colouring?”

Louis rubs her thumb across Indie’s cheek affectionately, “Of course, darling. And while you colour, you decide what you want to do on this holiday, anything that you want to do at all, and Mummy will see that it’s done, alright my little gem?”

At that, Indie brightens considerably, “Even Disneyland?”

Louis pretends to sigh in exasperation, “Well I do suppose that falls under the category of anything, yes?” Indie squeals and throws herself into Louis’ arms, who laughs and twirls her around. When she sets her back down, Indie immediately runs off to her wardrobe, already chattering about Ariel and Belle and Peter Pan. Louis smiles; _it’s going to be a good day._

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Harry Styles wakes up with a pounding headache and her phone shrilly ringing in her ear; she should _not_ have let Mitch talk her into that second bottle of wine.

She picks up the phone with a crossly muttered, “What,” and is suddenly assaulted with a barrage of angrily spoken words from Jeff on the other side. “Jeff. Jeff, Jesus bloody Christ, Jeff slow _down_ I can’t fucking understand you.” she half-shouts into the phone, sitting up cautiously so as to not wake the _angels_ curled up against her side; her two cats.

Jeff prattles on in her ear at a slightly more tolerable and understandable tone, and basically says in so many words that—“I’m late? Late for what?”

“A meeting with Louis Tomlinson’s management! I emailed you about it two hours ago!” Jeff sighs, “Don’t tell me you were asleep.”

Harry checks the time on her phone—it’s 11:45—and then she cringes, “Sorry?”

“You should be bloody sorry!” Jeff rages, “Get dressed right now, there’s a car waiting outside for you,” then he hangs up.

Harry sighs and drops her head back onto her pillow, closing her eyes. _It’s already been a bloody day and it’s not even noon._

Harry arrives at the Louis Tomlinson’s management company by 12:22, only a fashionable hour and 45 minutes late. When she arrives she begs one of the staff girls to get her a tea (“strong, with as much sugar and cream as you can possibly fit in the bloody cup”) and rubs her eyes against the amount of sun leaking in through the gigantic windows all throughout the office. As she walks further into the building she can hear a man’s voice—pleading? With someone, a high musical voice, definitely female, who sounds fucking pissed.

When Harry enters what must be the meeting room, all set up with a hanging white screen and a projector, and she can see a very annoyed Louis Tomlinson, rolling her eyes at a group of business men and women who all seem cowed by her very presence. A moment later, she spots Harry. “About bloody time you showed up. Did you walk here or something? Is that why it took so long?”

Harry cringes in embarrassment. “I’m really—”

“Sorry?” Louis snorts, “So am I for making my kid wake up at half nine after she was up the whole night.” But then Louis seems to take in Harry’s hungover appearance and her gaze softens a little, “But I suppose I can’t blame everyone for not having a reason to leave the after party early.” She takes a deep breath and then smiles, the same sweet smile from the night before on the carpet, and gestures to a chair a few feet in front of Harry. “At least now that you’re here these goons,” she gestures to the managers and assistants that she’d been arguing with a few minutes prior, “will _finally_ tell us what this super-special secret meeting is all about.” she raises her eyebrows at the suits in the corner, and they all seem to deflate a little bit under her gaze. One of them goes to speak when the sound of the door opening and shutting rings out through the room. Jeff and a tiny blonde woman dressed _sharply_ in a furiously pink day suit walk into the room mid-laugh, and Louis’ expression completely changes as the blonde steps away from Jeff and right into Louis’ arms. The pair hug for a few moments, Louis leaning back halfway through to kiss the blonde on the cheek, and then the pair sit next to each other. Harry herself stands to greet Jeff with hug also, and then she sits back down to face Louis.

Jeff walks to the end of the table and spreads his hands out from his body, commanding quiet and attention from every person in the room. “Now.” Jeff says without preamble, “I know you all have been wondering why we’re here,” he looks pointedly at Louis, “some of you a little more than others. As you all know, today marks the end of quarter, and the new one begins next week. A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Edwards,” the tiny blonde smiles brightly and winks at Harry from across the table, “And I didn’t even think of the advantage of that meeting,” he pauses dramatically, “until last night.”

At that, the little blonde stands up from her chair and snatches a remote from the table and points it at the projector, turning it on so that a compilation of headlines is splashed across the screen in bright lights. As Harry squints, struggling to read them, she finds that they have a theme.

“Hollywood’s Harry and 1D’s Louis—Are They the Cutest Couple or What?”

“Heartthrob Harry Styles Dotes on 1D’s Louis and Her Little Daughter, Indie, and the Internet Cannot Handle It.”

“Harry Styles Melts Our Hearts as She Dotes On Indie Tomlinson.”

“Harry Styles’ Heart-Eyes Blind Innocent Bystanders as She Looks at 1D’s Louis and Her Little Daughter, Indie.”.....which, is blatantly unfair.

Harry looks over at Louis, who is smiling a little bit at the titles, but looks just as confused as Harry feels. She looks over at Jeff, who has a smile that suggests he’s up to something. “...Ok so people are writing rags about last night, am I supposed to be surprised?” Louis asks, “What’s the point of some big meeting to say that people are shipping us together?”

“Because Lou,” Ms. Edwards says with a sly grin, “We want them to do more than ship you two.”  Jeff walks over to stand next to her, and smiles the biggest, most cheesy smile he seems to be able to muster. “We thought that maybe, for this next promotional quarter, you two could pretend to date!”

Harry’s eyes widen in shock, and she can barely even begin to open her mouth before Louis is up and out of her chair, and aggressively pacing across the length of the room. She stops to point a finger at Ms. Edwards, opens her mouth, but then changes her mind with a shake of her head and continues to pace. Jeff walks over to where Harry is still sitting like a bloody statue and sits down next to her. “I know this isn’t something we’ve ever—”  

“Ever what?” Harry interrupts, anger that she didn’t know she was feeling seeping into her voice, “Discussed? Talked about? Vaguely mentioned? Yeah, you’re right, we haven’t. That’s because it was my understanding that when I left Modest to come and work for you, I thought I was done using my personal life as a way to get people to appreciate how hard I work.” she turns away from Jeff and sighs, wiping a hand across her face. When Harry drops her hand, she looks up at Louis, who is staring at her intensely, then she looks away, back to Ms. Edwards, “How long do we have to think about it?”

Ms. Edwards and Jeff share a glance, “A few hours at most,” Jeff says calmly, “We’d prefer to have the contract pulled up this afternoon.”

Louis sighs. “These next three months are supposed to be all about Indie,” she says tiredly, “And I’m not changing that. I was on tour for 10 months, Indie was bounced from place to place and she’s exhausted. I told her she could do whatever she wants before she starts school, and that’s what she’s going to do.”

“Come on, Lou.” Ms. Edwards says gently, walking over to Louis and putting a hand on her arm, “You know I would never cut into your Indie-time, but,” she looks remorseful, “we have an album coming out soon, and all of the girls are doing their part.”

“All the other girls are either married, almost-married, or asexual and aromantic.” Louis says grumpily.

“Exactly.” Jeff cuts in, “And you’re single.” he turns back to Harry, trying to engage them both at once, “You wouldn’t even have to do much, just be seen out together a few times, hold hands a little bit, and don’t deny any rumors that are spread. A month and a half goes by and it’ll be the next quarter, and if you both hate being around each other that much, we can break it off and ride that out for a little while.” Jeff explains earnestly, “Who knows, maybe you’ll even become friends.”

“And what if we don’t want to?” Harry asks, contempt in her voice, “What if I say no?”

“Well, if you say no,” Jeff says, his voice like silk, “ _You_ will be doing magazine interviews, several talk shows, and two cover-shoots. You don’t get to pick which ones, or the topics you talk about, and,” he pauses, “We’ll set you up for three public appearances with Cole, from the film.”

Harry suddenly went very, very still. “I’m a fucking lesbian, Jeffrey. I’m not pretending to date a man for publicity.”

Jeff shrugs, “You’ll have to make a decision then, won’t you?”

The quiet in the room stretches on and on, Harry’s blood pounding in her veins so loudly it’s all she can think about.

“Okay.” Louis says softly, breaking the moment. Harry whips her head up from where she was staring at her lap and begins to protest before Louis talks again, “I’ll think about it. I’m gonna,” she looks at her watch, “Go take Indie out to lunch because she has to be starved. And by the time I get back, I will have my answer for you.” Then she turns, and walks out of the room without even looking at Harry.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Louis walks out of the meeting room all riled up. She leans one hand against the wall in the hallway, and takes a deep breath, trying to swallow down menacing feelings toward certain people in business suits before she goes to tell her kid that they probably won’t make it to Disneyland today.

She hears a the door open and shut behind her, and practically jumps when she feels a hand on her shoulder, whipping around to see that it’s only a still slightly-hungover-looking Harry Styles. “Jesus, you scared me.” she complains loudly, her voice echoing down the hall. Harry doesn’t say anything back though, just sighs and mumbles an apology, leaning her whole back against the wall that Louis was leaning on a moment before and closes her eyes.

“Hey.” Louis says gently, reaching out to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You alright? It got pretty...tense in there.” Harry Styles sighs again, and doesn’t open her eyes.

“I thought I was done with all that.” she says in a sad voice, “I left Modest, I came out, I signed with Jeff. And it’s been great because despite,” her voice gains a hard edge, “what you saw in their, Jeff and I are friends. He talks honestly with me and gives good advice and doesn’t take advantage.” she sighs again, “Until now at least.”

Louis looks at Harry Styles, just looks, and watches as she breathes in through her nose and out her mouth, obviously struggling a little bit to calm down. And Louis’ heart twinges, just the littlest bit, with pity for the girl in front of her. It’s not like Louis doesn’t know that celebrities’ lives aren’t always perfect, but compared to the polished confidence that usually exudes from the ‘Hollywood Heartthrob Harry Styles’ persona, this sad, scared, slightly ill-looking girl wearing last night’s makeup and an old, holey t-shirt looks especially pathetic.

Maybe that’s why Louis shifts between her feet a little, uncomfortable, and tells her, “I used to be signed with Modest too, back in the day.”

Harry opens her eyes, “I didn’t know that.”

Louis nods, and her mouth quirks to the side regretfully, “It wasn’t the best time in my life. I had a kid, and suddenly this very emotionally and physically demanding job, and I was still really young and far from my family, _and_ they made me go back in the closet.” she rubs a hand over her cheeks and chuckles a little. “We were so dumb. Young and dumb and scared. Especially me. I would have done anything to make it work, because I thought I had to.” she shrugs, “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to anymore. I have enough pull, know enough people, and have squirreled away enough money that people don’t fuck with me anymore. Perrie? The girl in there?” she gestures to the door, “She’s my assistant. My management company only talks to me through her, and they’re too scared of me to even _dare_ to try and make me do something that I don’t want to do.” she clears her throat, “But I’m getting a little carried away with myself now.”

She blinks and looks right into Harry’s eyes, “My point is that I can do whatever I want, and there will be no consequences. You, obviously cannot.” she looks down at her feet, “It would make me fucking sick if you were forced back in the closet, just because I was being a full of myself about a stupid stunt that won’t even matter in a month’s time. So.” she bites her lip, “I just want you to know, that I’m in. If you’re in, I’m in. If you aren’t sure, come out to lunch with me and my kid. We’ll chill a little bit, see if we can make this work.” When she looks back up at Harry, she can see that her green eyes are clouded with a mix of gratitude and resignation. “I’m not asking for much,” Louis says, her smile soft and small as she takes her hand off Harry’s shoulder and using it to cup the side of Harry’s jaw, gently sliding her thumb over her cheek, “just once chance. One lunch. If you hate it that much, we never have to do it again. Deal?”

Harry sighs, but she leans her face into Louis’ hand. “Deal.”

It takes them both a few more minutes to calm down, starting with Louis awkwardly coughing and pulling her hand away, stepping back from Harry as gracefully as she can. She laughs sheepishly, “Sorry about the,” she waves her hand, “Being a mum, it kind of makes you forget what personal space is.”

Harry chuckles too, then reaches up to run a hand through her tousled brown hair, which looks like it hasn’t been washed since it was styled the night before. “S’alright. I’m not good with personal space either, I’m quite,” she pauses, musing for the right word, “tactile, with my mates.”

Louis snorts, “You should meet me bandmates, put us in a room for more than five seconds and suddenly we’ll be in a big puppy-pile on the floor.” Harry laughs, and her smile lights up her whole face. Louis is definitely not looking for longer than is socially acceptable because she’s stunned by how pretty this woman is. Definitely not. “Anyway,” Louis says, clearing her throat and looking away from Harry Styles’ tractor-beam-like eyes before she does something stupid, “We should go grab my kid, I’ll bet she’s practically crawling the walls by now.” Harry gestures for Louis to lead the way and she does, starting off down the hall. _Jesus Bloody Christ Louis Tomlinson what have you gotten yourself into._

When they reach the office that Louis sequestered Indie off into a few hours earlier, she holds up a hand to Harry, motioning for her to be quiet, “Little gem, are you ready to go? Mummy has to come back in a few hours but we can go get lunch, maybe walk around a little bit, yeah?” She hears scuffling from behind the door, a gathering of papers most likely from a productive few hours of colouring, and then she sees a little shadow through the glass door approaching her and Harry. “I’m ready, Mummy! Can we get Thai for lunch? And pizza? And In N’ Out? With milkshakes?”  

Louis rolls her eyes, “Yes to the Thai, no to the pizza and burgers, maybe to the milkshakes. But, darling wait!” Louis says as Indie is about to open the door, “Mummy has a special surprise, but to see what it is you have to close your eyes. Tell me when they’re shut and I’ll open the door.” She hears the stomping of excited little feet from the other side of the door, and then, “They’re shut, Mummy!”

She opens the door slowly, revealing Indie’s little face, scrunched up by how tightly she’s shut her eyes, down to her little boot-covered feet. Harry, without hesitation, gets down on one knee so that she’ll be eye-level with Indie, and gently taps Indie on the head with a quiet “Boo!”

Indie’s eyes fly open and her little mouth drops in disbelief, then joy as she crows out Harry’s name and drops all of her drawings on the floor in favor of jumping into Harry’s arms. “Harry Styles, I didn’t know you were going to be here!!” Indie all but shouts into Harry’s ear before leaning out of their hug so she can see Harry’s face, “This is one of the places where my Mummy works! She works here and in the studio and in stadiums all over!” Harry raises her eyebrows to look appropriately impressed.

“Your Mummy’s job sure sounds cool.” Harry says brightly, “Now, I have a very important question to ask you.” Harry makes her voice mock-serious, scrunching her eyebrows until Indie giggles, “Would it be alright if I came along for lunch with you and your Mummy?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” Indie shouts, clapping her hands. She then turns to Louis, reaching out to take her hand, “Mummy, can we get In ‘N Out now, because we have a guest with us? Please Mummy?” Louis laughs and pulls her close by her hand, covering her face in kisses, “Absolutely not, little gem. It’s Thai or we go home and Mummy will make lunch.” Indie pouts, and Harry and Louis both start to laugh.

Later, once all of the beautiful art pieces have been gathered up from the floor and the lively trio have made their way out of the building and into the parking garage, Louis climbs in the driver's seat of her car, calling to Indie over her shoulder that she “Better be buckled, little gem or Mummy will come back there!” she hears giggling, but also the tell-tale _click_ of her seat belt, so Louis counts it as a win. She looks over at Harry, whose face looks infinitely brighter than when they walked out of the meeting room not too long ago. Louis smiles privately to herself, takes a deep breath, and backs out of her parking space.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Harry sits across from Louis and her little daughter at some hole-in-the-wall Thai place where the whole staff seemed to treat Indie and Louis like family. She watches as Louis tickles Indie as she laughs and Louis tricks her into eating her veggies and drinking her milk with the ease of someone who absolutely adores her child more than anything.

The pair of them really look beautiful together. Indie isn’t Louis in miniature, but so many part of their faces look a alike that they’re undeniably mother and daughter. Harry watches the soft way they interact with one another, Louis gently smoothing back Indie’s hair so it doesn’t fall in her soup and Indie leaning into the touch just enough that Harry can see how she glows with the attention. It makes part of Harry ache for her own mum, all the way across the ocean.

Harry slips her hand under the table and pulls out her phone, typing out a text to Jeff with one hand: “I’m in.”

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

The first date would be to bloody Disneyland.

Louis pulls her aviators a little farther down her nose, waving at Indie and Harry as they go around in the Dumbo ride again, smiles bright as the sun in the sky. She struggles to ignore the camera snaps a few metres away, knowing that by tomorrow this will be everywhere, that everyone will know they were together. The feeling is. Odd.

Louis is used to more stealth on her dates, hiding, sneaking, and protecting them from—

“Oh my god!! It’s Louis! Oh my god, Hi Louis!”

Louis turns, and flashes a happy smile; these are the first fans she’s seen in a few hours. She waves a hand to Alberto, Harry’s security, to get his attention and points to Harry and Indie who are still on the ride. She then easily walks over to the group of pre-teen girls calling her name. “Good morning, loves. How is everyone today?” she asks as they thrust CDs and notes and _cell phones_ (come on, really?) at her to sign. The girls giggle as she pops the lid off the sharpie someone handed her, holding the cap between her teeth as she writes her name and a little smiley on all of the girls’ stuff before handing it back to them.

“We’re lovely, thank you.” the bravest of the girls pipes up, “Would you mind taking a picture with us? We could do one all together if that makes it easier, or—” the girl’s mouth drops “Is that—?”

“Hey, Lou, Indie and I were—” cue screams of Harry’s name as all of the girls in front of her lose their minds. Louis turns around to see Harry, smiling happily with Indie balanced comfortably in her arms. Indie immediately reaches out for Louis, and the mum takes her off Harry’s hands with practiced ease. Indie shyly turns her head away from the girls, resting it on Louis shoulder. The girls coo at her.

“We didn’t know you guys were on a date!” the brave girl says with a smile, waving at Indie, “Y’all make _such_ a cute couple.”

Louis can feel Harry stiffen beside her, so she reaches out to wrap the arm not holding her daughter around Harry’s waist, rubbing a hand soothingly down Harry’s back until she relaxes, “Thanks! We’re both on vacation right now, so we thought Indie’d like a day here. We made a reservation at that thing, the…” she snaps her fingers, trying to remember, then turns to Harry, “What’s it called, love?”

Harry rolls her eyes, “I literally _just_ told you what it was called ten minutes ago.” she smiles at the girls, “It’s the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique, the place where they do the _princess_ makeovers.”

Indie sits up immediately, “For me! Because I’m a princess!” all the girls awww at her, and she smiles innocently, _mummy’s little goblin_.

“Well, girls we should probably get going.” Louis says, apologetically firm, “It was lovely talking to you, and we’d appreciate it if you could—” she winks, “Keep our whereabouts under wraps for a little bit, hm? We’re just trying to get Indie around the park without a mob.” The girls nod and make heartfelt promises, then walk away, waving and shouting ‘I love you!’s as they go.

When they’re gone Louis can’t help but sigh a little, pretty soon everyone will know they’re here. “What were you saying, when you walked over?” she asks Harry.

Harry waves Alberto over, signalling that they’re moving on, “Indie and I are feeling snacky. We were thinking it’s time for lunch,” she smiles indulgently at Indie, “Weren’t we, sunspot!”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” Indie crows, bouncing in Louis arms, making her mum laugh.

“Okay, little gem, it’s time for lunch.” Louis says, looking adoringly at her daughter, “Do you want to walk or let Mummy carry you?”

Indie thinks about it. “I wanna walk,” she decided, wiggling out of Louis embrace, and taking her hand instead. “Harry, Harry,” Indie calls, “Hold my hand too. We can’t have anyone getting lost, we _all_ need to stay with Mummy.” Louis snorts.

“Yeah, H.” Louis snarks, “Can’t have anyone wandering off, join the train.” Harry sticks her tongue out, but takes Indie’s hand anyway.

Together they begin to walk, cameras clicking in the background and getting stopped by fans a few times, but eventually they make it to a place to have lunch at. The trio enter the restaurant together, and sit down at the closest table they can find; a booth. Harry slides in first, then Indie and Louis after her, the three of them settling into their seats with laughter and smiles.

A waitress comes by and takes their order quickly, and Indie immediately starts to color on the menu with the crayons provided on the table. Louis leans back in the booth, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “I don’t know how Americans bloody _stand_ this constant heat. There’s no point in even trying to put on makeup,” she complains.

Harry nods in agreement, “It only gets worse too, the humidity does _wonders_ for my hair, as you can see,” she says with a roll of her eyes as she gestures to the adorable cowlick at the top of her quiff.

Louis reaches out and twirls Harry’s hair around her finger, “I think it’s cute.” she says, smiling. Harry blushes, Louis ignores how _extra-cute_ it makes her look.

“Mummy, when are we going to the Bibibi boutique?” Indie asks, not looking up from her colouring.

“Soon as we’re finished eating, little gem.” Louis replies, not looking away from Harry until the green-eyed girl herself breaks eye-contact, leaning down to talk to Indie.

“What are you drawing, sunspot?” Harry asks, admiring Indie’s artwork.

“I’m drawing today!” Indie says brightly, “See, that’s me, that’s Mummy, and that’s you! We’re _all_ wearing crowns because we’re all princesses! And that’s the castle in the background!”

“That’s lovely, darling.” Louis compliments, “Have you thought about what princess you want to be when we get to the boutique?”

“Yes!” Indie shouts, “Harry and I decided on Rapunzel from _Tangled_ ‘cause that’s my favourite movie and I look the most like her,” she contemplates, “‘Cept her eyes are green and mine are blue.” Louis nods, smoothing back the hair that’s fallen out of Indie’s braid and listens as she continues, “And that’s why Harry calls me sunspot, because I have the sun inside me just like Rapunzel!” she smiles her gap-toothed grin, and Louis can feel her heart melting.

“That’s excellent logic, my gem. And it’s very nice that Harry calls you that.” Louis tell her. Louis doesn’t need to look up to know that Harry is smiling.

Only later, when Indie is in with the lovely hairdresser at the boutique and Louis and Harry are mostly alone, watching Indie from afar, does Louis talk to Harry candidly. “How are you feeling?”

Harry half-smiles, her first all day, and shrugs with one shoulder, “Not bad. S’a little rough around fans and stuff, because I’m seeing faces as I’m lying, but besides that it’s alright.” she smiles shyly, “I like hanging out with you and Indie. It’s fun.”

Louis nods, her own smile widening, “Yeah it is.” she tilts her head toward Indie, who is giggling as she gets her makeup done, “She adores you, and she can be a pretty hard sell sometimes,” she leans in toward Harry, and talks a little softer, “Thank you. For being sweet with her, I know kids can be—”

“Absolutely no problem.” Harry cuts her off, “Indie is one of the most precious kids I’ve ever met, and I’m what many would call a child connoisseur,” she smiles cheekily, “When my friend has a bratty kid, I tell them. You, do not have anything even _close_ to a bratty kid.”

“Thank you,” Louis repeats, touched.

“You’re welcome.” Harry replies, smiling.

The pair stand in silence for a moment, and Louis turns to watch her daughter get sprinkled with ‘fairy dust’; she looks beyond adorable in her little Rapunzel dress and crown. Harry shuffles a little closer as they watch, and then slides an arm around Louis’ back to settle in the dip of her waist, rubbing her thumb gently on the bit of exposed skin above the waistband of her pants.

The fact that there are no cameras around warms Louis heart several degrees.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

“Pass me that, would you babe?” Harry asks Mitch as she reaches a hand out to him. He puts the glass of wine in her hand without question, and Harry takes a big sip of it before she tosses the rest of the wine into the saucepan where she’s sauteeing the onions and mushrooms for the glaze she’s going to pour over the steak currently cooking on the grill. The wine makes a satisfying sizzle when it hits the pan and Harry smiles; she fucking loves cooking.

Mitch snorts into his own glass from behind her, and twirls around on the stool in front of Harry’s outdoor island table. “Enough with the bloody dramatics, H, I’m fucking hungry.” Harry pouts. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about why you called me over here.” Mitch warns.

“To enjoy my dazzling company,” Harry says in a sultry voice, batting her eyelashes. Mitch snorts again.

“No. So we could discuss you massive crush on that Tomlinson chick.”

“I do _not_ have a crush on her. We are friends, who happen to be pretending to be dating.”

“Right. ‘Friends’.”

“Were you just doing _air-quotes_ , Stitch Rowland?”

“Will you _ever_ stop calling me that stupid name associated with a animated blue alien?”

“It’s not _normal_ for someone to have never seen the movie, Stitch. It’s a bloody Disney classic.”

“Sorry I’m not five.”

“Sorry you have no sense of humor.”

“Sorry you have a massive crush on Louis Tomlinson.”

The pair continue to bicker as Harry expertly finishes cooking the steak, plates it next to the pilaf and salad she made earlier, and covers it with the glaze. She sits down at the island across from Mitch and they both begin to eat, silent for the first time all evening. That’s her favorite thing about hanging with Mitch; the mutual quiet. There’s no competition for better stories or more interesting acquaintances, just two people who have been friends for a very long time. Harry remembers way back when she first met Mitch, at a casting call for the last sundance film she did before she got her first big break as Ariel in the live-action version of The Little Mermaid. She remembered when she realized she would have to bring a date to the premiere, and that the date would have to be a man. So she had drunk-dialled Mitch, sobbing into the phone about Disney films and how she needed a date to her movie premiere or her management would yell at her about clauses and would he like to come over and watch Lilo and Stitch with her? Mitch had replied that sure, he would be her date but he had no idea what a Stitch was, and well, the rest was history.

Halfway through the meal, Harry can’t help but bring up the subject again, “It’s not even really a crush. It’s more like—”

“More like you’re madly in love with her?” Mitch says around a mouthful of pilaf and steak.

Harry splutters on her sip of wine, “I’m not in _love_ with her, we’ve only been on a few dates and—”

“I thought they were fake dates?”

“They are! Well. Most of them are.”

Mitch raises his eyebrows, “Which ones aren’t? I haven’t heard of these non-fake dates.”

“We’ve been having dinner together, me, Louis, and Louis’ daughter, Indie. Sometimes I cook and sometimes she does, which really means she calls for take-out, and we watch Disney movies until Indie falls asleep. That’s it!” Mitch just stares at her. “Her fucking kid is there, Mitch! Her child! Her 7-year-old daughter! That, is _not_ a date.”

“Well, then maybe you need to have a real date. Just the two of you, no paps and no Indie, and see what happens.”

Harry sighs, “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Mitch questions, pointing his fork accusingly at Harry, “You like her, you’re friends, why can’t you?”

“Because! Louis is only doing this so that I wouldn’t have to pretend to date Cole. She’s just being nice and it’s not fair of me to expect anything more just because I—”

“—Just because you like her!” Mitch finishes, triumphant.

Harry pouts.

“Seriously though, H,” Mitch says, grinning, “Real date. You, Louis, private, no kid. Do it.”

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Harry smiles when she hears the doorbell ring, turning the burner down to simmer and covering the sauce with a pot lid. She steps out of her kitchen walks to her front door, opening it with a flourish, “Hello, Tomlinsons!”

Indie and Louis stand in the doorway with matching grins, one of them holding two stuffed princess dolls and the other holding a bottle of wine. Louis leans in to kiss Harry on the cheek, “Hello, love,” she says warmly, “Something already smells amazing!”

Harry smiles, blushingly, “It’s just spagbol; I didn’t feel like getting too fancy tonight.” Louis raises an eyebrow, “Okay, so I might have also made homemade ice cream. I’m a feeder, sue me.”

“Ice cream!!” Indie yells, “Can we have ice cream now and spagbol for dessert? Can we, Harry?” Harry scoops up Indie, settling the little girl on her hip and stepping back into the house, assuming that Louis will shut the door as she walks in after them, “I, personally think that’s a lovely idea my sunspot, but Mummy will probably say no,” Harry wrinkles her nose at Louis, who is rolling her eyes, “because Mummy is no fun, right, Lou?” she calls, bringing Indie into the kitchen and popping her on the island table in the middle of the room. Harry goes back to the sauce, stirring it slowly.

“Yes,” Louis replies sarcastically, opening a drawer and pulling out Harry’s corkscrew to pop the bottle of wine she brought, “Mummy is the _least fun, most boring, lame_ person on this planet.” Indie giggles, and Harry turns around to see Louis tickling her daughter, on the counter, and kissing her cheeks when the little girl tries to wiggle away.

Harry’s whole body seems to soften as she watches them together, and she leans back against her counter, content to watch, until Louis turns to her and smiles cheekily, stopping her attack on Indie to say, “Harry’s turn!”

Harry opens her mouth in mock surprise as Louis lifts Indie off the counter and flies her over (airplane noises and all) into Harry’s arms so that the pair of them can tickle her all over. Harry laughs and holds onto the little girl in her arms as she wiggles her fingers on Harry’s neck and in her armpits, and then jokingly roars before smothering Indie’s face in kisses. As Indie giggles and clings to her tightly, Harry looks over her shoulder at Louis, who is smiling indulgently at the two of them, and Harry could almost _swear_ that she sees something more in her eyes, something that says—

“Can we eat now?” Indie asks, still breathless from the tickle-fight, “I’m hungry.”

“Yeah,” Harry says softly, not looking away from Louis, even though the moment is broken, “We can eat, sunspot.”

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

“So do you like her or not?”

Louis chokes on her curry and coughs painfully for a few minutes after, “Way to not beat around the bush, Zed.” Zayn rolls her eyes and looks at Liam and Niall meaningfully. Liam sighs and Niall rolls her eyes.

Liam begins, sensibly as always, “Well we just noticed that you’ve been having her over more than normal to the public house, and you’ve introduced her to Indie, and—”

“Technically Indie was the one that introduced her to me,” Louis says cheekily.

Niall rolls her eyes again, “Lou, you never let people hang around your kid. You didn’t let us meet her until we were on tour together.”

“Indie was only a bloody baby back then, it wouldn’t have mattered if you’d met her; she wouldn’t have known you from a stranger!”

“Yeah but it’s the _principle_ of the thing, Lou. And on top of it you let Zayn meet her first, so she totally swept up the favorite auntie position before the rest of us even got a _chance_ —”

“I’ve fucking told you a hundred times, Niall, my mum brought her up as a surprise, I didn’t know she was going to be coming to lunch until she got there! And anyway you have your _own, blood-related nephew_ , now to be favorite auntie to so I don’t want to hear it!”

“It’s the _principle_ , Lou—”

“ _Would you bloody shut up about the principle Niall or I fucking swear—_ ”

Then, from the other room, “Auntie Li, Mummy said a swear!”

“That’s very right, Indie she did. And you should never say swears like your Mummy or you’ll have a potty mouth and no one will like you.” Liam calls to the other room as she leans over the table and thwaps Louis over the back of her head with a napkin, which results in a smacking battle until Zayn clears her throat at the end of the table, reminding her bandmates that they’re all in their mid-twenties now and they should be a little more mature.

So Louis settles for kicking Liam under the table because a little more mature doesn’t mean a lot more mature.

“ _Anyway_.” Zayn says, focusing back on Louis’ face, “Answer the question.”

Louis squirms in her seat for a moment, “I don’t know. All the dates we’ve been on have been for the paps and stuff.”

Niall rolls her eyes _again_ , “Just because paps were there doesn’t mean every single second was for them. Li and Sophia go on dates and paps are there, and they’re bloody married.”

“ _Engaged_ , Niall. Pez and I are the only ones in the group that're married.” Zayn says smugly.

Liam glares at her from across the table, “You won’t be able to say that soon, we’re setting the date any day now.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“ _We are._ There’s a meeting with our planner tomorrow to talk about the save-the-dates.”

“I’ll believe it when I get it in the mail, Li.”

“ _An-ee-way_.” Niall says slowly as Liam opens her mouth angrily to retort, “Back to Lou and Black Widow. Speaking of, are you gonna go to the premiere with her?”

Louis shrugs, uncomfortable, “I don’t know, Niall. That’s ages away.”

“Not really,” Liam pipes up, “It’s only two months.”

“Yeah, Liam,” Louis sasses back, “But that’s a month _after_ the contract ends, _Liam_. I don’t know if Harry will want to renew it.”

“Oh come on.” Zayn says, exasperated, “You know she will. She had you and Indie over for dinner almost every night last week, she obviously likes spending time with you. _And_ it wasn’t at the public house, so you can’t say it was for the paps.”

“But that was for Indie,” Louis says earnestly, “Harry absolutely adores her and invited her over for dinner and disney films; I was just a plus one.” All three girls raise their eyebrows at her, and Zayn looks like she’s barely holding back a laugh. “I’m serious! She has no interest in hanging out with just me, the only times we have were for the paps.”

“Where have the pap-dates all been anyway?” Liam asks, mid-chew. Zayn lets a out a noise of disgust and Liam glares at her. Niall sighs.

“All over.” Louis says after she swallows a sip of her drink, “We went to dinner once, but the place was really noisy so we couldn’t really talk, then we went out to the shops once, that’s where Indie got that scarf,” she remembers, fondly glancing at the doorway to the living room, “Harry got it in some specialty shop, said it would look darling with that one dress Indie loves to wear.”

“The lilac one?” Zayn asks.

“The lilac one.” Louis confirms, “And the most recent one was out on that boat, but we spent most of the time with Harry’s friends, we didn’t really speak alone at all.” Niall nods when Louis is finished, chewing contemplatively.

“What about body language? Sometimes people convey they like you through that first before they say it out loud.” Niall asks when she’s finished.

Louis starts to shake her head, then hesitates, “Well...there was this—”

All three women clamber closer to her, “Yes. Yes, go on.” Liam says encourages, waving her hands.

“It was last week, when I was helping her cook in the kitchen.” Louis explains.

Zayn snorts.

“ _Okay_ , so _she_ was cooking and I standing there talking to her.” Louis says, annoyed, “And she asked me to hand her something from the fridge when she had her back turned, and I grumbled something about feeling like the hired help and she didn’t get pissy like people always do when I complain, she just laughed. And then I handed her the stuff and she had this, well this look, like she. Like she wanted to,” Louis shrinks in her chair as the other girls lean in even more, “like she wanted to kiss me.” Louis swallows when all the other girls’ mouths widen in shit-eating grins, “But then she just took the bowl from me and turned around and that was it! That was all!” Louis exclaims, panicking, “I’m serious!”

“Harry and Louis sitting in a tree, f-u-c-k-i-n—” Niall taunts, before Louis claps a hand over the back of her head. “My kid is in the next room you bloody twat.” Louis hisses.

The slapping war that follows serves as an excellent distraction, but that doesn’t mean that when Louis is pulling Zayn and Liam apart from their mutual choke-hold, she isn’t still thinking about the soft way that Harry looked at her in the kitchen that night, wearing the holiest, rattiest Rolling Stones t-shirt she must own, her brown curls (getting longer every day) flopping over her forehead and into her gorgeous green eyes, which focused right on Louis’ mouth before she licked her perfectly rosy lips, and Louis could swear, could absolutely _bet_ that Harry was going to lean in and snog her. She was so, so, so, _so_ sure.

Then she had turned back around.

Later, when the girls have gone home and Indie is in bed, Louis stares at the ceiling and thinks about the dates, and moreover, thinks about Harry.

She runs over their interactions in her mind, the lingering touches and longing looks that she thought were one-sided, from her to Harry, but could they be more? Could they? Louis rolls her eyes at herself and huffs out a breath that moves her shower-wet fringe out of her eyes. _Shut up, Tomlinson,_ she chastens herself, _you have a kid and Harry’s just in this to get her fucking homophobe of a manager off her back. You’re friends, and that’s it._

Louis rolls over in her bed, and shuts her eyes.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Harry is holding Louis’ hand across the table, and she is definitely not sweating under the collar of the YSL dress shirt she chose to wear tonight. Definitely not.

The date is going fabulously, if Harry says so herself. She picked a restaurant where she knew no paps would think they’d go, and made sure that the part where they’d be sitting was mostly empty so it’d be quiet, and made sure that Louis knew she wanted it to be just the two of them.

_“I just really, I want to ask you something. Talk a little bit, like,” she blushed and stammered, sat across Louis’ kitchen table for the fourth time that week, and tried to collect herself, “adults and stuff.”_

_Louis had smiled, softly, a little cheekily, “And stuff, huh? Well.” she said, her perfect baby-blue eyes brightening as the skin around them crinkled fondly, “I’ll make sure that Indie has a previous engagement that night so she’s not jealous. Perhaps a night spent with her Auntie Niall.”_

And so the date was excellent! Amazing! Fantastic! There were no paps and no children and just the two of them, talking and laughing like they’d been friends their whole lives, something that had blossomed and grown between in the best possible way over the past few weeks. And if Harry zones out sometimes because she’s too busy staring at the way Louis mouth moves when she talks well, who can really bloody blame her.

“So—” both Harry and Louis start at the same time. Harry blushes and stammers, gesturing for Louis to continue, while Louis shakes her head and smiles sheepishly, waiting for Harry to speak. Then they both laugh for a minute, sheepish and giggly and nervous all at once.

Harry ducks her head, suddenly feeling shy. When she looks back up, Louis is staring at her, in that super special way that Louis always stares at her with those beautifully full, gentle, blue eyes, so Harry can’t help but throw caution to the bloody wind and blurt out, “My friend is opening a club next week, and I was wondering if you wanted to go? With me? I mean,” she stammers, watching Louis’ face light up, “obviously I won’t be the only person there, there’ll be lots of people. And paps. People and paps,” she laughs nervously.

Louis’ face seems to fall a little bit, but then she nods, “Yeah, sounds good. That’ll be a as good a place as any, I suppose.”

Harry feels confusion cloud her face, “Good place for what?”

Louis raises an eyebrow, “To break up, right? It’s about time to end this, contract is up next week. Jeff sent Perrie a memo about it, I figured you’d have brought it up earlier.”

Horror washes through Harry. “No—that’s, I didn’t—I mean unless you—”

Louis smiles tiredly, “It’s fine. You’re sick of this,” she gestures between them, “It’s fine, really. Indie is starting back at school and stuff,” she looks at her fingernails, picking them idly, “it’s about time, anyway. We’ve been playing pretend long enough, huh?” her smile turns a little more sour.

Harry stiffens, and surprisingly, feels the need to blink back tears. “I guess so.” _what a fucking fool you are, Harry Styles,_ “Sorry for dragging it out so long.”

Louis shakes her head, “S’fine. We both probably, got a little caught up.”

Neither of them say anything for the rest of the dinner, and only when Harry is alone in her car, after Louis is far, far, far out of sight, does she finally let herself cry.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Louis is annoyed.

Scratch that, Louis is _fucking pissed._

They’ve only been at this stupid club opening for two hours, and Harry is already trashed. Louis lost track of her partway through the first hour, after she watched her knock back four rounds of shots and _then_ start sipping some fruity drink that was much more dangerous than its pinky-orange hue seemed to suggest. They had barely spoken on the ride over, and hadn’t touched except when Harry put a hand on the small of her back the way she always does when they walked past the paps and into the club.

It hadn’t been enough.  

Louis was used to Harry’s idle touching. Used to feeling hands on her shoulders or around her waist, brushing her hair out of her face or gentle hand-holding or hugs from behind. Before her skin would burn where Harry touched it, and it hurts now to watch her hands from across the room, not feeling them on her skin.

The minute they stepped out of view Harry snatched her hand back like Louis’ skin was hurting her. Louis had tried to talk to her then, and Harry looked like she wanted to, then she seemed to remember something that made her face go cold, and instead she practically ran to the bar to start slamming back drinks, talking to everyone and anyone except Louis. And now, after an hour and a half of watching Harry flit from friend group to friend group, farther and farther away from her, she’s had about _enough_.

She shoves through people, uncaring when she gets a few glares and middle fingers, and stalks her way up to Harry, who is currently laughing next to none other than _Nick fucking Grimshaw_ , who Louis _bloody fucking hates_ , and grabs her arm and leans in to shout over the music “We need to talk!”

“Tomlinson! How are you? Still an unwed mother?” Nick shout-slurs, drunkenly.

Louis narrows her eyes, “Gremlinshite! How are you, _mate_ , still a bloody racist, aphobic cunt?” Before Nick can reply, Louis grabs Harry and pulls her toward the loos, taking her drink, a different one than the one that was in her hands the last time Louis saw her, and putting it on a random table that they pass.

Harry doesn’t fight her as she does this, doesn’t protest or try to pull away, just docilily allows herself to be led. Louis tries not to focus on that fact as she enters the bathroom, the quietest place in the club, and pulls Harry inside after her. She pushes Harry into a wall near the sinks, “Stay.” she commands, then she walks up to all of the stalls, checking to make sure no one is in any of them, and then turns back to Harry.

“What the fuck was that!?” she yells, throwing her arms up in the air, “What the fuck has this whole night been?”

Harry narrows her eyes and crosses her arms, a childishly snotty expression on her face, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought we were breaking up. I was just trying to play it up, because that’s what you said you wanted.”

Louis rolls her eyes, “Yeah I wanted to ‘break up’ for the cameras, that doesn’t mean I want us to ignore each other and not be friends, there’s no paps inside the club, H.”

Harry huffs out a breath, “Friends. Yeah, right. Friends. Alright, Lou, I’ll go out there and be friends with you!” She holds out an arm sarcastically, voice saccharinely sweet, “Come on, Lou let’s skip across the dance floor like the best _friends_ in the whole wide world!”

Louis recoils from Harry, hurt coloring her features and her voice as she says, “We don’t have to be friends if you don’t want to be, I just, I thought that—”

“Thought that I wanted to be friends?” Harry asked, voice cutting, “Well, you thought wrong. I wanted something different. And I’ve been running around in circles like a bloody _knob_ , trying to tell you, but you’ve made your feelings quite clear. So let’s go, let’s go break up for the cameras so we can be _friends_ , Louis.”

Louis scoffs, pushing the hurt aside and letting nothing but acid come through when she speaks, “We don’t even have to be friends if you don’t want to be. Sorry. I guess this whole time I’ve just been reading all the signals wrong,” she laughs, bitter and unkind, “I mean wow! You really are _some_ actress!” she goes to leave the toilets, but is stopped when Harry grabs her arm.

“What do you mean, read the signals wrong?”

Louis doesn’t turn around to look at her, but she can hear just from that sentence that her whole demeanor has changed, has become quieter. Unluckily for Harry, Louis’ has not.

“I actually thought you liked me.” Louis says coldly to the door of the toilets, “I thought you wanted to _date_ me. For real. I even, for a little bit at least, thought you might be falling in love with me. Isn’t that bloody stupid? Isn’t that the fucking stupidest thing you’ve ever heard? Isn’t it—” she’s cut off when Harry yanks her back, turning her around and pulling her against Harry’s front in one solid motion before she presses her mouth to Louis’.

Louis gasps, surprised, and Harry uses that moment to open Louis’ mouth and slide her tongue inside. The feeling is, so _much_ , static and fire fighting it out in Louis’ brain, so she reaches up her hands to tangle them in Harry’s hair, needing something to keep her from floating away. Louis lets her eyes fall shut as she breathes Harry in, jumping a little bit when she feels her back hit the wall, but not moving when Harry boxes her in there, sliding a thigh between Louis’ own. The snog seems to go on and on, but really it was only for a few more minutes, neither one of them coming up for air, until the door suddenly bangs against the wall next to them really loudly, and they jump apart. A girl rushes past them, running into a stall and barely shutting it quick enough before she’s violently ill into the toilet. Harry and Louis look at each other, the moment between them so charged mere seconds before now broken, and they both can’t help but laugh, and laugh so hard that they get tears in their eyes.

When they’re done, Harry smiles, a smile so sweet and sickly that Louis can commiserate with the unknown girl chucking it in the toilet a few feet away from them, and pulls Louis in for another kiss, this one much more tame; all the fire and urgency replaced with gentleness and care.

Harry pulls back first, but keeps Louis held flush against her body. Her eyes are soft and warm, the kind of green that Louis wants to dedicate an entire album to describing, and asks “Do you wanna get out of here?”

Louis nods, not trusting her voice to come out over the knot in her chest. She swallows, “Zed is baby-sitting, so I’ll, uh, have to kick her out first.” she blushes and looks down, feeling shy, not remembering the last time she had someone stay overnight when her kid was sleeping in the house.

Harry puts a hand under her chin, tilting her face up so they can kiss again, just a peck, “You do that then. Because I want you,” she kisses Louis’ cheek, “all,” she kisses Louis’ other cheek, “to,” her forehead, “my,” nose, “self,” another one to the lips, long and drawn out and distracting enough that they lose a few minutes until a voice interrupts them, “Can you two fucking move so I can wash the vomit out of my hair?”

Harry and Louis practically fall out of the door they’re laughing so hard. They’re out in the main floor of the club now, people all over, and they can barely keep their hands off of each other long enough to find their way to the backdoor of the club and step outside into the alley behind it, itching to touch after a whole night of awkward space between them. Harry calls for a car while Louis calls Zayn, both of them kissing when the person on the other side of the phone call is talking. Louis can practically _hear_ Zayn’s smug-as-fuck smile through the phone when she breathily says she’s coming home early, and would she mind going back to her own rather than sleeping in Louis’ spare bed like they’d previously decided?

“Yeah sure, Lou. When do you want me to clear out?” Zayn asks, poorly hiding the laughter in her voice.

“Um. I. Um,” Louis gasps when Harry hangs up her call with the car company and moves her mouth across Louis’ neck, alternating between kissing and biting as she goes, “When we—me—the car, um, pulls in, or now!” she bites her lip when she feels Harry’s wide, warm, soft hands move from where they were chastely wrapped around the small of Louis back down, down, down to grip her ass through the skirt that she’s wearing, “Just go now! We’re only—fuck, H,” she says away from the receiver of the phone, “I’m only a minute or two away—” she swears under breath, “Indie is—Indie’s asleep, yeah?”

“Yeah, Lou. I put her to bed at 9:30 like always.” Zayn says, actually laughing now, “You a little...distracted?”

Louis answers late because Harry took that moment to shove her tongue back inside Louis’ panting mouth, but when they come up for air she gasps through the phone, “Shut the fuck up, Malik-Edwards. I want you _out_ of my house when I get there or I can’t—” she gasps when she feels one of Harry’s hands drop _even lower,_ and scoop her up so that she’s pinned against the wall, her feet off the ground, “—promise the innocence of your virgin eyes. _Got it_?”

Zayn’s laughing when Louis finally fucking hangs up, but she doesn’t care because it means she can drop her phone in her skirt pocket and run her hands down Harry’s chest, brushing lightly over her tits, hardly covered by the thinnest bralette in existence with only a see-through button-down, open from the waist up, separating what has to be the world’s most beautiful breasts from Louis’ greedy hands. Harry grunts into Louis’ mouth when she feels Louis’ thumbs brush over her nipples, perking up from the littlest bit of attention. Then, finally, Louis can breathe because Harry pulls away, turning to look down the alley at the car she must have called as it pulls up and stops right in front of them.

“C’mon,” Harry says, and Louis can barely look away from her perfectly debauched lips long enough to walk forward, open the car door and clamber inside. Harry tells the driver Louis’ address, not talking her eyes off Louis’ face or her hands (one wrapped around Louis’ own and the other planted firmly on Louis’ ass) off her body. The pair sit in complete silence for the 15-minute drive home, Louis bouncing her knee because she can’t fucking keep still because suddenly there’s all these nerves, because she’s been a fucking sex-camel since she doesn’t remember when because she never wanted to fuck in the same house where her kid slept because she didn’t want to bring someone into her kid’s life that wasn’t long-term and _holy fucking shit this is so much more than long-term, this is a bloody life-sentence_ because she could see herself marrying the girl sat next to her, she could see blending each other’s families and buying houses together and going on holidays and attending events as a couple and facetiming when Louis is on tour or Harry is off filming and Christmases and birthdays and….siblings. For Indie. Brothers and sisters with curly brown hair and gentle green eyes.

And it sounds mad, so incredibly far, far, _far_ too soon, but Louis feels Harry’s too warm, too soft, too big, too _perfect_ hand squeeze her ass cheek as if to say _we’re almost there, almost home,_ and all she can think is _am I in love with you? I think I'm in love with you holy shit I fucking love you so much_ _._

The car comes to a sudden stop and Louis doesn’t know when it happened, but Harry’s wallet is in her hands and she’s pulling out a bunch of bills and chucking them in the front seat, then opening the door and pulling Louis out of the car with her. They run up the driveway, still holding hands, and laugh breathlessly as they kiss in front of Louis’ security gate, then on her sidewalk, next to her front door.

Louis stops for just a second, her smile barely contained as Harry leans in again to try and catch her mouth, “Wait! Wait, serious—seriously, H—” she laughs again when Harry covers her mouth with a kiss, then pulls back. “What, love,” she asks, pushing Louis’ fringe out of her eyes.

“Indie is in there.” Louis says softly, not taking her eyes off Harry’s face.

Harry nods, and wraps her arms around Louis’ waist, “I know, darling. What?” her expression turns anxious, “We don’t have to—we can go to bed. If that’s what you’re trying to say. I wouldn’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I can sleep on the couch or in the spare, Lou, it’s not—” Louis kisses her. _God, you are perfect._

“All I was going to say,” Louis whispers, “Is we have to be quiet, because she’s asleep.”

Harry’s anxiety melts off her face, and is replaced by the cutest, most dimply smile. “I can do that.” she says softly, brushing her hand against Louis’ cheek.

Louis unlocks the front door.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Harry doesn’t remember the details of the two of them tip-toeing up the stairs, doesn’t remember unzipping her favorite gold boots and kicking them off as she stumbled down the hall, doesn’t remember picking Louis up halfway through the journey because _not bloody quick enough, Lou_ , and doesn’t remember tossing Louis onto her bed and leaning over her, moving her hands down to where Louis’ shirt is tucked into her skirt and pulling until it’s all the way out, up, and over her head. Harry pulls away from Louis’ mouth to look at her, her perfectly even tan skin warm and flushed and hardly covered by her tiny black skirt and her tan, lacy, see-through bra. Louis blushes from where she lays, biting her lip in the cutest, most impossible way that Harry just has to tell her, “You are, so, so beautiful.”

Louis smiles her crinkly-eyed smile and reaches up a hand to run her fingers through Harry’s hair. “You’re not too bad-looking yourself,” she says in a hushed voice, the fondness in the tone of her voice speaking so much louder than the words themselves. They kiss again, slower than earlier because they have all the time in the world now; no one to watch them and no one to interrupt. Harry picks Louis up under her arms and moves her so that they’re further up on the bed and swallows the noise of surprise that Louis makes at being moved. Once they’re up on the bed, Louis spreads her legs to make room for Harry, who shuffles forward so that she’s kneeling between them and hovering over top of Louis. Harry doesn’t open her eyes, too focused on the tiny biting kisses she’s giving Louis’ bottom lip, but she can feel Louis’ hands, moving from where they were buried in her hair, down her back and around to her front, unbuttoning the three or four buttons that are barely hanging onto her shirt. She feels hands pushing the shirt back, off of her shoulders and she let’s them, shrugging the shirt off, grabbing it, and throwing it to another part of the room to be found later.

Harry ducks her head down to Louis’ neck, sucking on the skin where her throat meets her jaw while Louis gasps, digging her nails into Harry’s back just the littlest bit. Harry moves down her throat slowly, then moves over onto her shoulder where her bra strap sits, and Harry moves it over just a touch then kissing the skin where it sat, reaching her hands around to Louis’ back where her bra hooks and breathlessly asking, “Can I? Lou, please?”

Louis nods, her hands rubbing circles into the juncture of Harry’s shoulder, “Quick, yeah? Wanna,” she sighs when she feels Harry’s lips on her skin again, “Wanna, get my mouth on you. Wan—” Harry’s hands have unclasped her bra and gently pulled it down, exposing Louis’ sensitive skin to Harry’s warm breath, “Wanna ta— _taste_ you,” Louis gasps, struggling to stay quiet as Harry presses soft kisses down the gap between her now uncovered breasts. Harry trails her hands down Louis’ sides to thumb along the top band of Louis’ skirt, then moves her mouth back up to kiss Louis again; sweet and slow. Louis uses Harry’s movement to her advantage, wrapping her legs around Harry’s waist and rolling them over so that she’s straddling Harry’s hips.

Harry lays back on the bed in awe, watching as Louis tosses her bangs out of her face and smiles, all confidence and sexiness and _wow_. Harry leans up to mash their mouths together, feeling Louis’ hands at her back, unhooking her bralette and pulling it off before tossing it in the same direction as her own had probably landed. Harry pulls Louis against her until she’s lying directly on top of her, their bare chests fitting together like puzzle pieces. Louis kisses Harry again, then leans back and for the first time all night she looks uncertain, her eyes tight with shyness around the corners.

“It’s…” she trails off, avoiding Harry’s eyes, “It’s been a while. For me.” Her smile is apologetic, “Probably longer than I’d care to admit.”

Harry huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes, running her knuckles down Louis’ spine, “You think I care about that? You think that matters to me?” Harry leans in for another kiss, their lips just barely brushing before she whispers, “This is so much more. So much more than that.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, voice soft.

“Yeah.” Harry replies.

It’s the last thing either of them say on the subject for a while.

After, when Louis is asleep, her body draped comfortably across Harry’s chest and her head tucked under Harry’s chin, Harry stares up at the ceiling and feels completely at peace. She carefully runs a hand through Louis’ hair to smooth it back and smiles when Louis sighs and cuddles more closely to her. She breathes in the scent of Louis’ hair one more time, then closes her eyes, falling soundly to sleep as she thinks one final thought: _I’m so in love with you._

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Indigo Rose Tomlinson wakes up _exactly_ at 8:30, just like she does every Saturday morning, except this time was different.

Someone is cooking in the kitchen.

Indie likes the schedule, the predictability of mummy getting up when she does and making cereal in the kitchen because mummy can’t make anything other than cereal. It’s part of their ritual, their together-time early in the morning. They did it on tour, before school, and back when they had lived with Granna Jay.

But this morning the air smells like cinnamon, sugar, and bacon and Indie is too much of a Curious George to stay in bed one second longer. She climbs out of her bed, kicking off her sheets and duvet and sliding into her slippers. She walks out of her room, down the hall and down the stairs, making her way toward the kitchen, which smells better and better the closer she gets. When she turns around the corner, she hears a low voice humming, and sees that it is coming from a tall person wearing one of her mummy’s favorite jumpers. She nervously she calls out, “Hello?”

The person turns, still humming, and suddenly all of Indie’s nerves melt away.

“Good morning, sunspot!” Harry calls from her place in front of the oven, “You’re up nice and early.”

“Harry!” Indie crows, running over to hug Harry around the legs, feeling Harry smooth a hand down the back of her head. She smiles up at Harry and reaches up her arms, waiting. Harry easily scoops her up, balancing her on one arm while she wields a spatula with the other. Indie leans her head on Harry’s shoulder and watches her cook. “What are you making?”

“French Toast. Sound good, sunspot?” Harry asks, easily flipping one piece of bread in the sizzling pan then picking up another one and sliding it on top of a growing stack next to the stovetop. Indie nods, yawning, and sighs, cuddling her little face into Harry’s shoulder. She feels a hand rub up and down her back, “Still tired, hm?” Indie nods again, her eyes heavy. “That’s ok.” Harry says softly, kissing the top of Indie’s head, “Mummy is still asleep upstairs as well.”

Indie giggles, “Mummy’s not asleep. Mummy’s ung-over.”

Harry splutters, nearly dropping a piece of freshly done French Toast on the ground, “Mummy’s _what_?”

“That’s what Auntie Niall calls it, when Mummy doesn’t get up early and feels poorly after she goes out at night. Ung-over!”

Harry bursts out laughing, her eyes shut tight and voice going all high the way that only Indie can make it go. Indie laughs too, because she likes the way their laughs sound together. Behind her, she can hear a the quiet shuffling of feet across the tile, and calls over Harry’s shoulder, “Mummy! Come in! Harry made French Toast!”

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Louis’ head is pounding (slightly) when she makes her way down the stairs and into the kitchen, closer and closer to whatever that absolutely gorgeous smell is wafting through her house. She walks into her kitchen to see Harry, the possible (definite) ultimate love of her life, holding her child and making breakfast. Her heart warms to the point of near-combustion.

Indie calls to her, telling her to come in for the French Toast that Harry has made. Harry turns around, her face soft and eyes full of a thousand sappy things, but what comes out of her mouth is, “Not a bad sight to wake up to in the morning, huh, Tomlinson.”

Louis smiles at her and walks up to her, getting up on her tiptoes to give Harry a delicate kiss; their first in the daylight. Indie laughs and smiles, reaching out for her mother as Louis holds her close, but wraps an arm around Harry too, bringing all three of them together.

_No, not bad at all._

**Author's Note:**

> Read more of my terrible fic; [the song is you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7419133/chapters/16850860), [life's terrific thunder](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6270916/chapters/14368972), [Bucky-Devil](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6811222), [the heat is on (baby can't you feel it)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7799971), and [a pair of rain-blue eyes to haunt me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9435107).


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